Sirius Black, The Prisoner of Azkaban
by HyperCaz
Summary: Harry's third year at Hoggies through Sirius B.'s eyes. Chapter 2, Seeing Harry is up. A bit of Magnolia Cresent action. Only very slight SB/OC DISCONTINUED
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: No money, no sue. As in, I don't own Harry Potter.  
  
~~~  
  
Prologue  
  
Sirius Black slowly swirled the contents of his wine glass round and round. He seemed almost mesmerised by it, but took in what was happening around him. He conceded that moping around like a wall flower wasn't exactly the best thing to do at his friend's wedding, deciding to set his glass down. Stretching as he stood up, the best man tried to find James Potter among the guests. His lip twisted when he saw Lily's sister over in the corner, the vague impression that she had something nasty under her nose planted on her face.  
  
Scowling, Sirius began making his way over to give her a piece of his mind when Peter blocked his way, a nervous twitching on his face. Sirius halted suddenly,  
  
"You seen James anywhere?"  
  
"Y-yes," Peter's eyes darted over the reception gardens, pointing behind him.  
  
Shrugging off anything unusual, Black strode over to where James and Lily were dancing together underneath the shimmering fairies immobolised around the garden. For a second, Sirius hesitated, thrown off track by the light flickering off them. It made a haunting sight in the dusk, almost foreboding. The breaking of glass off to his side snapped him back to reality.  
  
Laughing off his momentary lapse, Sirius walked over to his friends, determined to stay out of the shadows. James turned as soon as his friend reached them and gave him a thump on the back,  
  
"Nice to see you, stranger. Got tired of being with your *friends*?"  
  
"How's the champagne. . .and the husband?" Sirius asked Lily, ignoring Mr. Potter who continued to make a show of imaginary friends and such.  
  
"Both extremely tasteful," Lily Potter replied with a smirk, "Though I'd say the vintage of one is a little old."  
  
James stole back his wife with an elegant looping of his arm around her waist,  
  
"What she had neglected to mention is that a certain black, hairy dog is on the loose. Say, Padfoot, why don't you chat up the other dogs?"  
  
"Watch it, Prongs."  
  
"Ooh, I'm scared."  
  
Offering nothing more than a glare, Sirius turned on his heel with intentions of blending in with the shadows once more. So intent was he in doing this, he bowled over Bellina Figg who was carrying two glasses of champagne. Sopping wet, she battered his help away with a hand and moped herself up with a handkerchief. She looked up at him, amused,  
  
"Good grief, Sirius! Where do you think you're running off to?"  
  
"Anywhere but here," He told her shortly.  
  
Bellina whiped out her wand, pointed it at herself and muttered a few words. Completely dry, she set the broken glass down on a nearby table, not refusing the extra hands to carry it.  
  
"There," She rubbed her hands together, "Now you have to dance with me, seeings as it *was* your fault I broke the glass."  
  
Sirius cleared his throat,  
  
"I'd better not - I have to go and. . ."  
  
"Go and what? Didn't quite catch that, Siri. Nice try, but I'm not that ugly."  
  
Grudgingly, Sirius let Bellina drag him out under the fairies, scowling heavily around the place. Arabella Figg's younger sister (undergoing her NEWTS that year) tutted,  
  
"You really shouldn't frown. A smile is much more appreciated."  
  
But how could he? One cannot just *smile* to make You-Know-Who go away. Despite disagreeing inside, Sirius waltzed her but kept his mind elsewhere. Where was the Dark Lord now? Plotting, scheming, probably knew everything about the Potters. And why shouldn't he? He had a spy, according to Dumbledore, somewhere around them. With a jolt, Sirius realised he hadn't seen Remus Lupin at all. Biting his lip, Black tried to tell himself it just couldn't be Remus, it couldn't be! But even so, the Dark Side can make people not care anymore.  
  
"Sirius? Hello, anyone home?"  
  
He blinked and looked down at Bellina who was smirking mischieviously. Absently, Sirius let a smile play onto his face and tried to still it once he realised it was there. The slight Bellina shook her head,  
  
"No, no, that isn't right. I want you to smile, takes away the brooding."  
  
"Who needs a smile, anyway?" Sirius asked her, "I certainly don't."  
  
"But I certainly do. Perhaps you are right, though. . .everyone needs more than a smile," She frowned thoughtfully for a moment.  
  
More than a little uncomfortable with her twisting of his words, Padfoot began looking for escape. Thankfully, the song ended, allowing him the freedom to leave. Bellina watched him go, an irratated expression dawning on her face. She turned away, just as Remus went Sirius' shoulder only to be shrugged off. Standing there watching Black go, Lupin shook his head sadly before finding the drinks.  
  
~~~  
  
One year and a few months later  
  
Sirius, under usual circumstances, would have enjoyed sitting in Dumbledore's office with a stiff drink. But the sombre expressions James and Lily wore quietened any cheerful thoughts he wished to express. He knew it was his decision to change to Peter as Secret Keeper. James was still on edge, even though there was no one else in the room (Dumbledore was waiting downstairs).  
  
"Look," Sirius broke the silence, "You-Know-Who will come after me instead of Peter. I mean to say, who'd use some one like him as a Secret Keeper?"  
  
But Lily did not look entirely convinced. Her eyes narrowed just slightly,  
  
"Perhaps I could offer a better decision. . ."  
  
"No, Lily," Sirius cut him off with a wave of the hand, "I'd feel safer knowing Peter was the Secret Keeper."  
  
Even so, the red-head persisted, his usual demeanor more imposing than usual,  
  
"Would you also feel safer if it was Dumbledore instead?"  
  
She had struck gold, but Sirius was not to be put aside so easily. He got to his feet abruptly and strode out of the room, pausing only to shoot James a pleading look. Respecting the wishes of his friend, Prongs pursuaded the change to take place. And all the while, Sirius was standing outside, his forehead pressed against the cold wall as he wondered if he'd spoken too hastily.  
  
A few hours after that, the Potters would be changing their choice without the knowledge of Albus Dumbledore.  
  
~~~  
  
Just over a week later  
  
Sitting astride his flying motorcycle, Sirius Black watched the stars watch him. Kind of. The nippy air off the harbour had driven him inside a parker long ago, his unease driving him here. It was Halloween, he realised with a jolt. Straggly lines of children dressed up as witches, gouls and the like were walking on the other side of the stretch of water, gloating over their midnight haul. Tapping his wand against his thigh, Sirius checked his watch (a muggle contraption, surprisingly easy to use) and warily cast the sky one more glance. The moon was winking at him in arrogance, mocking his every move and word.  
  
"Damn it," He said at last, convinced by the moon's teasing.  
  
Kicking the bike into an abrupt turn, Sirius sped off down the road a few hundred yards before seamlessly sliding into flight. The darkness made the change even difficult for the rider to register, perhaps another omen of the night's events.  
  
Somewhere along the way, he clipped a chimney and went spinning out of control. Gritting his teeth, Black closed his eyes and hit the thrust switch, taking him off at the speed of a bullet in a direction he hoped was not the ground. Fortunately, it was the right direction. He suffered no more mishaps, jumping at every thing he saw, and feeling the great chill of foreboding.  
  
Peter's small, run down cottage with its thatched roof (the place he chose to hide in) sat innocently on a grassed hill, a vague flickering light peeking out the windows. In his haste, Sirus almost skidded straight into the white picket fence upon landing. It would have certainly looked to anyone watching like he had been hurled off the bike into the front garden and rolled forcibly to the door.  
  
"Peter!" Sirius banged sharply on the door, ignoring the pain in his wrists, "Peter, open up!"  
  
A lazy creak announced the door suddenly opening of its own accord.  
  
He stared at it, before stepping inside cautiously. A merrily burning fire in the hearth illuminated a neat and very empty room. Each of the pieces of basic furniture had its own place, own job. But there was no one around to make use of this. There was no sign of trouble, no sign of distress. Frowning slightly, Sirius crept about the place before dousing the fire. Left in the uncertain dark, he pondered for a moment why Peter was gone. He discarded his first thought.  
  
Peter Pettigrew was not the spy.  
  
But then, the niggling thought floated back. What if he was? He had been a little eager when Sirius had asked him to be the Secret Keeper. . .hadn't he been the first to lodge the idea in Black's mind? Wasn't he the only one the Potters' boy refused to be held by? Wasn't he. . .hadn't he. . .  
  
A strangled yell escaped his throat and soon enough, the flying motorcycle had once again graced the chilly air with its sickly sweet fumes. The urgency at which it sped across the sky was nothing even close to the urgency Sirius felt at heart. No matter how he stamped the accelerator, now matter how hard he willed the bike, it would not go faster.  
  
Before he knew it, Godric's Hollow had appeared beneath him. Wheeling it around in a perfect mid air u-turn, he raced it to the house, not daring to look above it. Jumping off his motorcycle before turning it off, Sirius looked unseeingly at the door. The wide open door, banging menacingly on the frame in the wind. He looked up, almost afraid to. Sure enough, sailing high about the house with a wicked grin, was the colossal skull, signalling the deathly mark.  
  
"No," The defeated man muttered quietly, as if it were a bad dream, but the Dark Mark refused to vanish. Falling to his knees, Sirius let out a howl like a wounded animal, his eyes wild. The lights were still on in the living room and an upstairs bedroom. With a sickening lurch, he realised it was baby Harry's room. Torn between a desire to flee and a burning desire to enter, he just stared hopelessly up at the open window where the ripped curtains blew in a frenzy.  
  
Almost in a daze, Padfoot walked haltingly through the oak door, eyes sliding past the charred lock. To his left, the vague voices of a TV (yet another strange Muggle device which was easy to use) mocked and jeered him. Colour draining from his face, he realised that the figure at his face was James, his empty face turned upwards with grim determination written on every line. The shakes began, ripping through Sirius' body, sending him back to the ground.  
  
Forgetting himself for a moment, Sirius called out,  
  
"He's dead, Lily, James is dead!"  
  
Oh god, what had happened to Lily and Harry? He stumbled to his feet and began sprinting up the stairs with new found strength. Harry's door was blown off its hinges, resting some five metres away on the floor, charring evident. Stopping to examine it in a kind of horrified trance, he decided he didn't want to see what lay beyond the door frame.  
  
A wail split the silent air, desperate and frightened. Eyes wide, Sirius crawled over and peered in to see Lily thrown across the ground, her arms reaching out for a baby sitting against his cot, green eyes full of tears. Slashed cruelly across Harry's forehead was a vivid red scar, although it was fading. Quietly assessing Sirius, the young Potter did not protest as he was picked up into a gentle embrace.  
  
When Sirius arrived back downstairs he found Rubeus Hagrid standing by the motorcycle, waiting patiently. Wordlessly handing Harry over to him, Black leant against his vehicle in a deep reverie.  
  
"Tha' bad?" Hargid asked gently, casting the ever present Dark Mark a wary eye.  
  
Sirius looked up at him, finding his voice,  
  
"I-I don't know how Harry survived. . .when he's parents didn't. . .Why Lily and James, Hagrid, why them? They're the nicest people and You-Know- Who murdered them like they. . ."  
  
Hagrid shifted uncomfortably, drawing Harry into his cloak,  
  
"'Spect I be'er be off then."  
  
"W-What?" Black sounded as though someone had swung a heavy weight into his head, "You're taking Harry?"  
  
The looming figure of the Hogwarts Game Keeper seemed ill at ease when he replied,  
  
"Dumbledore wants ter take care o' where he goes."  
  
Sirius bit his lip to keep his outburst from escaping. Wasn't he Harry's next in line guardian? Shouldn't he have the right to look after Harry? Regaining his composure, he argued weakly,  
  
"Give Harry to me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather, I'll look after him."  
  
Hagrid didn't quite meet Padfoot's eyes,  
  
"Harry's ter go to his aunt an' uncle's. Dumbledore wants him to."  
  
"But Hagrid! James and Lily said that if anything happened to Harry I'd be his guardian!"  
  
It was no use arguing, though. The Game Keeper had his orders from the Headmaster and wasn't about to abandon them. Sirius was having trouble deciding what to do. Perhaps he should force Hagrid to give his godson over! But even as he thought this, Black discarded it. Dumbledore always knew best, went it not so? A nasty thought occured to him suddenly - no one else knew they'd changed Secret Keeper, no one else except Peter but the git was with his master now. . .  
  
"Take my bike," Sirius was surprised at how wooden his voice sounded, "I won't need it anymore."  
  
~~~  
  
Barely twenty strides apart, Muggles between them, stood Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. The former's arms were at his sides, fists the clenched - the latter was smiling deftly, almost innocently. There was something not right about the way Wormtail held himself. . .almost arrogantly, an uncharaistic thing to do for him.  
  
He thew back his head and shouted,  
  
"Lily and James, Sirius! How could you!"  
  
Black went for his wand, snarling, but before he could raise it - the street had blown apart, blood and destruction before him. A gasp emerged his throat, but he could not move. Soon the Wizard Hit Squad and their Aurors would be their, ready to imprison him for something he had not done. Still, he thought, it was worth finding out the real truth.  
  
He slid his wand into a pocket, a smile curving on a face. And suddenly, he laughed.  
  
~~~  
  
WHEW!!! Long prologue, probably the longest chapter in this fic! (Stupid me, hehe) Next chapter we'll start with the Third year. . .Taken a while to end this Prologue!! Reviews are most welcome! 


	2. Breaking Out

Disclaimer: As before, I don't own Harry Potter.  
  
AN: Thanks for the reviews! Reviews is what I function on. . .  
  
~~~  
  
Chapter 1, Breaking Out  
  
Just under twelve years later  
  
In the dim dawning light in a particularly dark cell was Sirius Black, doing his daily count of the stones on the floor from his resting place in the corner to the magical iron gate, blocking him from freedom. Mind, it wasn't the only thing in the way. Just outside stood the most fearsome creatures that had ever walked the earth, wheezing the rattling breath of the devil. Shuddering slightly, the diminished prisoner recounted the stones. Was it just him, or was there an extra one?  
  
Probably just him, Sirius conceded darkly to himself. He bit hard into his already ruined nails and looked up at the dingy lightless ceiling. Grey morning light was seeping in, casting shadows of the bars across the floor in ominous height, announcing the start of another day. But what is day? In there it seemed the meaning was more crying out from his dubious neighbours, more rattling breath of the demons to jar him into the nightmare. The nightmare which reminded him every day that he was innocent and that Wormtail was out there somewhere.  
  
He could also hear the waves outside bounding relentlessly onto sand, blowing in gusts of terrifying speeds which beat against the walls, slid in via cracks and roared across the rooftop. The cry of a raven soared over this great sea, its croaky, hoarse voice foreboding.  
  
The cold crept over him slightly as another one of the hooded horrors tread quietly down the hall outside. Sirius, more than ever, desperately wanted his wand and good solid meal. Like an animal, he crept over to the other wall and began rubbing his nails over the stone, shivering from the scratching sound. In a cell down further, someone screamed. Before he knew it, he was a dog, with mere thoughts, surveying the cell from far down on the floor.  
  
A new scent was gliding down the corridors into his cell, blown about his snout. No, it couldn't be feeding time just yet. The lack of stirring outside his door convinced Padfoot that it was too early to claw his way through an unappetizing slop, trickling down his throat. Ah, that was it. The smell of someone new.  
  
Come to join us, have you? Mused the dog, Come to suffer with us?  
  
Approaching footsteps, springy and light, no hope lost. Couldn't be a prisoner then. . .In no time, a filthy man had reappeared on his hands and knees, listening intently. A pompous step, brisk and down to business. The air of arrogance proceding far ahead of whoever it was seemed to announce the coming of some one you'd hate to get on the wrong side of. . .someone in power, but a little blustering, maybe.  
  
Shifting his head to the side, Sirius watched Cornelius Fudge approach, spinning his rounded hat slowly, nervously looking ahead as if to avoid contact with both prisoner and guard alike. His pinstriped travelling cloak (complete with silver fastenings) hung a little lopsided and touched up with a smiling mask. Clicking boots, dressed too well, the Minister for Magic paused in front of the heavily guarded cell and peered in.  
  
"Hello, Minister," Sirius said politely, amused by Fudge's startled reaction.  
  
A little unnerved, Fudge frowned slightly, taken back. Whatever he had hoped to find (and Sirius wasn't sure what that was) had been dashed with two simple words. The hat stopped its orbit suddenly and the Minister leant forward just slightly, careful not to place himself within the reach of the two Dementor guards. A silence followed, broken only by the mutterings coming from a few cells down.  
  
Sirius noted, with some hunger, that Fudge had tucked under his arm, a Daily Prophet. Barely stopping to think what he was doing, the prisoner asked as pleasantly as possible,  
  
"Have you finished with the paper? I miss doing the crossword, if you don't mind."  
  
"What?" Squeaked Fudge in disbelief.  
  
Black did not allow the threatening smile to reach his face. He stared out the visitor calmly, hoping to appear without malice. He waited patiently for the Minister to reach a conclusion, hoping that it was the more preferable one. Finally, Fudge handed over the newspaper with cautious ease, nodding shortly,  
  
"I must be off, Black. Expect to see you again shortly."  
  
With that, he spun on his heel and walked briskly down the passageway, perhaps with a little more haste than he had originally planned. Sirius smiled, then turned to the precious paper in his hands. With trembling gentleness, he unfolded it and smoothed out the front page, wondering when he last had held a newspaper. He had no interest whatsoever with the comings and goings of the wizarding world anymore. It seemed this had also been stolen from him with the happy memories.  
  
The grey light had turned into a soft throbbing orange glow, making the shadows from the barred window appear more like Halloween figures than anything. Halloween. . .Shaking the thought off, Sirius turned a few pages idly, as though he could no longer read. The text seemd fused together, so small that he had to squint almost to make it out. After a short article about some petty theft, he once again become accustomed to the print. Soon enough, he was drinking in all the information, basking in the glory of finally reaching a portal in which to see the world. His world. . .  
  
An article accompanied by a picture (moving as they did in the wizarding world) seemed to jump out him. Perhaps it was the words "grand prize" in the headline, perhaps it was because of the cheerfully proud picture beside it. There was nothing odd about it at all, nothing out of the ordinary. A little disappointed, Sirius studied the picture carefully. It was a big family, each smiling in different ways. The boy in the middle sported a Head Boy badge and glasses, almost wearing a dignified smirk. The was only one girl, he realised with bemusement, but she seemed happy enough. One of her brothers had an arm around her, beaming at the photographer.  
  
He also had a rat on his shoulder. Padfoot's lip twisted sardonically - he didn't much like rodents. A long time ago, they hadn't bothered him, but one night was enough to change that. As it was, his mind shot back to Peter Pettigrew and connected the two rats instantly. About to discard this, he frowned. The rat pictured was missing a front toe. This reminded him of the stories that had slowly trickled in over the years. What was it? Ah, yes, the story stating all that was left of the fat bastard was a finger.  
  
Black swore softly. The article told him five of the children in the picture attended Hogwarts and by the looks of it, Peter was the "adoring" pet of a student. The vermin would be close to Harry. . .Harry Potter. Close to danger and the orphaned boy didn't even know it. Growling deep in his throat, Sirius threw the newspaper into his corner, angry and frustrated that he could not leave Azkaban. Hate flared into his veins, hate directed at the bastard who'd done this to him.  
  
He threw back his head and a cry, not unlike the one he had loosed all those years ago outside the Potters' house, ripped down the corridors, full of anger and hate. Ringing into cells, bouncing off uninvited walls and gates, the cry silenced even the most insane prisoners for a whole minute. No one dared make a sound.  
  
~~~  
  
One Week Later  
  
Sirius did something he'd rarely done. He paced his cell sin a horrified trance, walking backwards and forwards, running a hand through his long tatty hair. Sitting placidly by the iron gate to freedom, was the newspaper, open to the very page. Waving up at him, completely unaware was that family. He cast a shadow upon it each time he passed, glancing down unseeingly at the poor souls but unblinkingly at the rodent. . .no, the vermin. . .  
  
Outside, his two vile guards shifted restlessly, the rustling of dry musty cloth swirling just slightly, but driving eddies of dust into the cell. Pausing to watch this, Sirius was in time to see a slimy, scabby hand slip opening the gate slightly, leaving whatever it was that kept the prisoners alive. Desperate as he was, Padfoot avoided eating it when he could. But this wasn't what had captured his burning interest. Retreating like a snake, the hand vanished back to hell's fire where it belonged, locking the unrelenting gate with a swfit movement.  
  
As crazy as it seemed, Sirius decided he was going to slip out and lay his hands around Wormtail's neck and squeeze the life out of the scoundrel. Looping his hands as thus, he looked at them. The beginnings of a smile registered on his gaunt features. Excellent. The burning desire to avenge the Potters (and his own imprisonment) did not waver or fade out as he began calculating by the light reaching his cell from the barred window when the next meal arrived.  
  
The light began to fade slowly, tauntingly creeping away as though prolonging the moment, daring Sirius to back out. He inclined his head thoughtfully at the dare and accepted it, challenging his own resolve. He rocked backwards slightly and look up far above him, a manic glint in his eyes. Not long now. . .not long at all. He could almost taste the freedom, could almost feel the outside air pressing in on him in a distorted comfort. Soon, oh so soon!  
  
The darkness enveloped the enclosure, chillingly sly and covering. Walking on all fours, Black reached the iron gate to freedom, throwing a vicious snarl at the barred window behind him. It was a half-challenge, half- mocking snarl, which morphed into one on a thin dog. So thin was he, that through his ratty fur one could see a rib cage, almost as if announcing that this was not a dog, no, merely a skeleton.  
  
Ominous footsteps, light and heavy, could be heard, bringing with the sound of footfalls a devilish creature. The dog's nose quivered slightly, suddenly wary and uncertain of what lay ahead. It ducked its head to sniff the newspaper before gripping it between yellow fangs. Again, the slight animal heard the feather-light, rock-hard steps grow louder and softer with each passing second. For a wild moment, Sirius thought that the Dementor would not come his way, but the steps became louder, as though someone had turned the volume up.  
  
He began shaking slightly with barely suppressed anxiety. Ahead the demon could be seen, hunched over slightly and turning its hooded head this way and that, although it couldn't hope to see anything without eyes. It stopped sharply outside the cell and that stealthy hand slid out and opened the gate ever so slowly, pushing forward the revolting paste. It didn't even notice as a wraith silent dog stole past and began a fast trot down the long stone corridor.  
  
Padfoot looked in each cell, recoiling in terror every time the occupants stared out at him with lifeless eyes, shifting to watch him out of sight. Aiming staright ahead, the dog clambered down dusty grey steps two flights before stopping, panting quietly and lolling its tongue through fangs. In front of it was an ornate archway, bearing the crest of the Ministry on a key stone in the dead centre. Squeezed snugly into this was a beechwood door, untarnished and stripped bare.  
  
The dog nosed it and pulled back with indecision. Was it locked sercurely? He shot the Dementors down the other way a terrified angled look, then fixed eyes squarely back on the bleached wood. Sirius pushed a little harder and with a soft thud, the door swung open - only just. Cautiously, filled with pent up excitement, the dog bounded out onto the beach.  
  
At first, he didn't know what to do, just rolled about in the sand and sniffed washed ashore items, then looked up at the cloudy night sky in jubilence, all the while not daring to make a sound. A gust of wind nearly bowled him over, swinging his head in the direction of the prison. Standing there defiantly was Azkaban, glowering down at the escapee. This seemed to strike a hammer of fear and urgency into the gay animal's heart.  
  
Sirius whuffed quietly and began treading through the shallow water which chilled his paws and lower legs, the fur shimmering about. He threw himself into the waves and began paddling furiously against the onslaught, desperate to leave. Far ahead was land, dangerously out of reach. All the traveller knew was that he was in the English Channel (La Manche) and nearer to Azkaban than anything else.  
  
AN: I have no idea where Azkaban is, but I figured it would be South to Surrey where Harry lives. I couldn't find a suitable island so made one up. Don't worry - the chapter's not over yet! ;)  
  
~~~  
  
Early morning on the Beachy Head at Newhaven was a quiet time, easy going. Meandering aimlessly along was a slight woman, collecting driftwood and muttering a few words under her breath before stowing it in a canvas bag hanging off her arm. She was hoping to collect a considerable amount before the sun really rose and glared down. Humming to herself, she bent over to pick up a decent sized piece.  
  
While she was doing so, her eyes shifted to the water, and held. Completely rigid, she forgot all about the driftwood. What she had seen was a furiously paddling black dog, big and determined, struggling to make it to shore. She smiled and put aside the bag. She was a witch, and one who did not believe in such things as graveyard Grims signalling death.  
  
Trotting slowly, the dog sat back on its haunches, panting heavily but safe. The woman pulled out her wand and performed a simple drying spell, keeping eye contact with the beast. She sat back on her heels,  
  
"What's a nice dog like you doing out here?"  
  
The dog whined softly, pawing the sand and snorted through its nose. What she didn't know was that Sirius was staring at her in amazement, for he recognised the witch in front of him. Bellina Figg leant forward carefully and gave the dog a scratch behind the ears.  
  
"Well," She laughed, "If you're not going to say anything," As if I would, thought Black, "I'll do the talking. Do you mind walking with me?"  
  
The dog looked at her as if she was mad. Perhaps she was, who could tell? Bellina picked up her bag and began making her way up to the road. Halfway there, she looked over her shoulder and saw the dog trotting behind her, ears twitching. Once he'd caught of with her, she told her silent companion matter-of-factly,  
  
"I have a cosy nook at Lewes nearby. I suppose you have your own cosy place somewhere, though, with a niec master," She looked down at a whine and saw the dog shaking its head, "Well, maybe not. I'm going to my sister's place today - she lives in Surrey."  
  
They reached the road and began the slight climb up to a nearby cottage. It had clearly been abandoned, but Padfoot had the feeling there was more to it than met the eye. Pushing the door carelessly, Bellina walked over to a fireplace and pulled out a small sack she carried under her cloak. She noticed with some interest that the dog bounded over into the fireplace immediately.  
  
"Wizarding dog, huh?"  
  
She smiled at the nod her companion gave her. She let him leap aside before shouting,  
  
"Incendio!"  
  
Cheerfully crackling at them in the hearth was a fire, warm and inviting. Bellina threw a fistful of the Floo powder, explaining shortly,  
  
"Never took my Apparation test. Doesn't seem worth it. . ."  
  
The green inferno sent a spriral of ash in her direction. She coughed and noted with amusement that the dog sneezed. Seizing a handful of his fur, she wheezed out as she stepped in the fire, hauling her companion along,  
  
"Ten Privet Drive!"  
  
~~~  
  
Sirius went sprawling and whuffed loudly. Walking out, calm as you please, was Bellina Figg, dsuting herself off and pulling on spectacles. The dog blinked - having never seen her wearing glasses before. Clearing her throat, the woman called,  
  
"I'm here!"  
  
And sneezed loudly. She could have sworn that the dog guffawed before shaking ash out all over the living room. Arabella stormed in and began sweeping the place up with a grand gesture with her wand. When the task was done, and done well, the mistress of the house tucked her mahogany wand into her large billowing robes and beamed in a way only sisters can.  
  
"It's so good to see you, although I could have done without the ash," Mused she, "So whose is this dog you travel with?"  
  
With any luck, Sirius decided, he could get a decent shelter for a short time and wouldn't have too much trouble finding where he was. Excellent.  
  
~~~  
  
AN: Yay! He escaped! Whew, I never knew I could write so much. Next chapter, we'll see Harry in the garden. . . 


	3. Seeing Harry

Disclaimer: I hereby declare Harry Potter is not mine. . .but Marcus Quiggle is!  
  
AN: Thanks again for the reviews. . .hehe. . .Due to popular demand, the chapters will stay as long as they have been and will not be shortened. Okay, I can't be bothered to change the parts about Arabella Figg just because Order of the Phoenix contradicted me. BTW, I don't know a thing about Britain or Scotland. So shoot me!  
  
~~~  
  
Chapter Two, Seeing Harry  
  
Sirius dumped his sodden paper just outside the door, still turned to the page with Peter on it. Glancing up and down the silent, sweltering street through a heat haze, he was then satisfied that no threat was posed towards him. Grinning, if a dog could do so, he bounded over to the dewy grass, springy and soft, clearing away for a moment, the bleak memory of grey stones and iron gates.  
  
When Bellina came out, she noticed the dreary dog playing in the sunshine, rolling over the lawn and flower beds alike. Something had changed about the animal - only hours before its head had been drooping, paws dragging. . . and now, he seemed full of vibrant energy, almost as though a dark cloud had come - and gone, blown off into the horizons.  
  
Tapping a Daily Prophet to her chin, Bellina sat down on the low garden wall and was soon joint by the panting beast, ears pricked up. She smiled,  
  
"You read the paper too? I'm sure someone's missing you. Now smile, because everyone needs to."  
  
A snort escaped the dog's snout and it jumped up onto the wall, squinting down at the front page. Glaring back up at him was his own picture, sporting long, tatty hair down to his elbows, sunken cheeks and eyes. For a moment, Sirius wasn't sure if that was him or not. The fierce snarl planted across that lifeless face made him shudder just slightly. Is that who he'd turned into? A murderer?  
  
"Oh dear," Sighed Bellina softly, her face expelling fragility in her gentle curves, "That's Sirius Black. You know why he was in? Please, don't ask, it isn't becoming. And to think he has escaped. . ."  
  
Surely she didn't believe what she had heard? Padfoot shook his head and turned it to the rolling clouds and sapphire sky, beckoning with joy any creature gifted with flight. The woman was already rolling up the paper and throwing it onto the road carelessly. A brisk wind blew it over onto its front, the pages rippling in the wind lazily. The dog jumped out and snagged it between gnashing teeth, depositing it in her lap.  
  
Bellina scratched him behind the ears,  
  
"No, you're right. I shouldn't leave that lying about a Muggle street," She stretched, yawning, "Let's take a wander down the street, my friend, I'm quite certain no escaped prisoner would be here."  
  
Sirius snorted, but trotted to carry up to her swinging strides. His sharp eyes watched her very, very carefully, but soon turned to the road. Already he was planning to leave, but something stalled him. No matter how he reasoned that it was just a need for shelter, no matter how long he told himself it was just for safety, this something told him otherwise.  
  
A sudden silence had fallen as a shroud over the street, lying thick on the dog and its companion. Bellina was shifting the paper from hand to hand, looking around the street as if expecting something to be there. She stopped a moment and leant against a light pole, inspecting the front page once more briefly. She appeared almost wistful, but Sirius wasn't watching to notice.  
  
He was frozen in mid step, ears perked. Lying on the grass of the garden of the house to the left was an image from out of a nightmare, a ghost of the conscience. The dog's eyes were riveted on the nightmarish apparition, tongue hanging out in fear. Bellina turned to see where he had got to and frowned,  
  
"Come!" Once a few houses down, she said in a low voice, "Yes, that was Harry Potter in case you were wondering. It doesn't do to make a scene, according to my sister."  
  
Sirius was barely listening. Just his luck to have a run in with someone like that! He was still shaken from seeing the ghost of James lying on the lawn, face upturned to the sky. And that scar - slashed cruelly across the forehead, angry and vivid. Suppressing a shudder, he trotted after the witch, wondering what would happen to Harry if Peter Pettigrew decided it was time to act.  
  
~~~  
  
Locating his now dry newspaper from the swim to Newhaven, Padfoot glared down at the waving family. He didn't like the situation at all. He couldn't just hang around Little Whinging - no, he had to first settle himself up at Hogwarts before the Dementors caught up with him. That's where Pettigrew would be. He looked out at the sky, deepening from a light crystal blue to a dark navy, sporting tiny pinpricks of light and a crescent moon.  
  
Gathering up the paper in his jaw, Sirius bounded out through the slightly ajar backdoor and stopped for a moment to assess the best way to Hogwarts in Scotland. Certainly he'd have to stay in this form as not to be caught. Harry was still in danger as long as he waited around or was caught carelessly by a quick, insignificant human detour.  
  
Something unusual pierced the silent night. Raised, heated voices. Debating with himself for a few seconds, Black thought *what the heck* and as steathily as his dog form would allow, he crept towards the source of the sound, his snout quivering. He could pick up the scent of the boy he'd seen earlier that day and sweat, pulsing anger or fear.  
  
Silhouetted against a patch of light was that ghost of the past, wand sticking awkwardly out of his fingers, owl cage under one arm and lugging a trunk with another. Realising that the boy was coming into his range, the escaped convict ducked into some bushes and warily eyed the howling figure standing where Harry Potter had been scant seconds ago. Nearby hedges quivered with anticipation as wind fluttered through them breezily for just a moment.  
  
Tearing his sharp eyes from number four Privet Drive, Sirius ripped from the hedge and ploughed into another, sending a stray cat skittering aside in fright. He'd lost sight of the boy! Damn it, damn it, damn it. . .No use kicking yourself for it. . .you'll see him later. . .A loud scrape screeched from a nearby pavement. Mentally telling himself to *screw that*, he trotted quietly off after the occassional grunt and shifting.  
  
He continued to follow Harry for a while, almost losing his grip on the newspaper clenched in his jaw. It seemed hours later, even though it was just a few streets. Surely the boy's adrenaline would have faded, he couldn't possibly go any further.  
  
Padfoot now tread softly, but did not bother with hiding himself in bushes. He could see Harry up ahead, drawing to a stop. The boy looked dejected as he set down the empty owl cage and stood, blinking for a moment. Then he sat down hard on a low wall, running a hand through his unruly hair, glaring up at the street lights. There was a panicked look darting in his green eyes and suddenly Sirius wanted nothing more than to burst out of the shadows.  
  
Instead, he contented himself by scurrying over to a dark bush set between a garage and a fence, giving him a good view of the back of Harry's head. He realised that the boy was shivering, but it couldn't be from the cold - it was a hot night. His head went from side to side, as though he was nervously scanning the road and his hands were clenching his wand. In the long silence that followed, Sirius found himself becoming more impatient. Move, boy, Goddammit, move!  
  
The ghost of the past slowly bent over and opened the trunk with trembling hands. He reached in and was on the verge of drawing out something that looked almost familiar when he stopped suddenly. The boy shifted uncomfortably, gripping his wand a little more tightly. He turned to look right at the gap where the escaped convict was.  
  
Sirius nearly yapped in his surprise, then realised Harry's eyes were gliding right over him. The boy muttered something under his breath and a light appeared at the end of his wand and stared without cease at the crouching black dog. The watched stared back, caught. Harry backed away quickly and went flying over his trunk, meeting a hard landing in the gutter.  
  
The flash of light that followed revealed the dubious but proud Knight Bus. Black figured that he didn't want to be hanging around anymore, seeings as what had been a puddle of light became a flood. He turned and bolted.  
  
~~~  
  
The sun rose early the next morning, cheerfully bright and warm. A dog snoozing beneath a bus shelter cracked open an eye, then another. He sneezed then crept out from under the dirty seat. Once clear of the shelter, he bounded out and rolled in a dirt patch until his fur was strewn with dirt. He then shook himself out and scratched at his ear.  
  
Sirius almost allowed himself to be lured into transforming back to his human form, just for the sun. He cancelled this thought with difficulty and approach the map of the surrounding area tacked onto the side of the bus shelter, bus routes roaming like scriggly crayon lines. He wasn't interested in these, rather the bold black arrow pointing upwards. Written clearly enough even for him next to it was: North-East, London.  
  
AN: OMG I just realised how far it is from London to Scotland. Shitaki mushrooms.  
  
Padfoot pawed the ground. Which way was north-east? He had no doubt that his next move would be far easier if he went to the city. He was distracted when a lady rounded the corner and sat down. She was reading a newspaper avidly. Sirius watched her look at the time and curse.  
  
"You'd think a bus to London would be on time!" She said crossly, not even bothering to heed the fact that she, too, was late.  
  
The dog cocked its head, lazily wagging its tail. The woman was so occupied with the paper that she didn't even notice him. It wasn't long before he could hear the grinding of gears and groans that signalled the bus' approach. The other occupant of the shelter shot to her feet and strode angrily over to the road. Sirius followed slowly, not wanting to attract attention.  
  
When at last the machine crawled to a stop, the door eased itself open as if it had never previously worked out that this was its function. The woman storm up the two minature steps and threw down a few coins at the bus driver. No one noticed the dog accompanying her until an eldery man sitting near the middle began to sneeze violently.  
  
"Damn allergies!" He muttered and scowled, "Hey, LADY, this your dog?"  
  
The woman became flustered,  
  
"No, of course not."  
  
She made a hasty trip to the back and up the steps to the next level. Sirius noticed that the man had a newspaper clutched in his bony, old grip. And the pictures on it were moving, just visible under the hand used to hide it. He nudged the man's knee and put a paw up to the paper, eyes innocent yet accusing. The old man glared at him,  
  
"Dogs aren't allowed on the bus."  
  
Sirius was indifferent and settled himself so that he could see out the window. A badly chipped sign off the to the side read: London, 75 kilometres. (AN: 46.875 miles to be precise)  
  
~~~  
  
He knew it was risky and that he shouldn't have done it, but at the moment, Sirius Black didn't care. He was sitting outside Kings Cross Station, still and quiet. He waited with baited breath then, seeing the owl swoop down on him, he pulled in his tongue. With difficulty, he pulled off the folded parchment and didn't even notice the messenger swooping off.  
  
Looking around once, twice, he dodged into the bathrooms and transformed within the safety of a cubicle. Black supposed he already knew what the answer would be, but was still nervous as he opened it. Sure enough, it was the reply from Quality Quidditch Supplies.  
  
Dear Mr. Potter,  
  
Certainly, we would be pleased to inform our equal in Hogsmeade would accept payment and deliver via your means, however unusual they may be. When you have picked up the required item, the amount due will be taken from vault seven hundred and eleven.  
  
With pleasure,  
  
Marcus Quiggle Manager, Quality Quidditch Supplies  
  
Now he had to get going. A lot of land lay between London and Scotland. Sirius wanted to be there by the latest, November. He had a long way to go, but first, there was some road kill that looked rather tasty. . .  
  
~~~  
  
Okay! Short chapter! Shoot me! Heh. I know the last parts with the bus and letter were a bit. . .far fetched and I'm sorry I haven't updated sooner. I still can't get over how far it is from London to the place I've chosen in Scotland as Hogwarts' and Hogsmeade's resting place. Bugger. Until next time! 


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